Chapter 1: Meeting McGee
NAVSTA Norfolk
In the pre-dawn mist of this promising July morning, the silhouette of a ship slid into view from around Sewells Point and silently and smoothly approached the world's largest naval base.
If one stood on the quayside and listened for it, one could just make out the shrill calls of a bosun's whistle, interspersed with muted voices relaying commands to prepare for docking.
In the flat calm of the Hampton Roads, the frigate's passage into the harbor was smooth. By the time the mist had cleared enough for the sun to shed ever shifting patterns of light on the Chesapeake Bay waters, she was expertly brought alongside her designated berth at one of the 14 piers.
Standing on the bridge, her captain could easily be mistaken for a statue – his stance was tall, proud and very erect, feet planted a little apart on the deck and both hands crossed at the back. His second in command, whose clear green eyes missed nothing, passed on instructions through his portable.
The decks were busy with sailors installing the gangplank and taking the mooring lines ashore to belay them on the bollards, thus securing the ship.
- -.-. -. . .
Two immaculately dressed naval officers strode slowly, yet deliberately along the Hampton Boulevard towards the Naval Station Pass and Identification Office.
"Really, Tom. What's wrong with this Open-Ship? What better way to recruit people for a naval career than an open event at the Harborfest?"
The tall officer gave a sigh and rolled his eyes.
"Wake up, Jago. This is America. Remember we just crossed the Atlantic? Hardly the place to recruit for the Royal Navy, wouldn't you think?"
"Oh come now, Tom. The Boston Tea Party has long been forgotten. No hard feelings between our friends from our former colonies and our humble kingdom." Jago Pascoe grinned at the faces his companion made. "In fact, I was speaking for the Navy in general. Where's the difference with our very own Navy from that damp, foggy island, nor-nor-east of Ushant? Eh? I just wanted to say it's a good idea to warm younkers to a life at sea."
"Warm..." Tom's eyes became momentarily unfocused and he involuntarily shivered, which was somehow off, given as this was a hot sunny day.
The other officer gave his friend a concerned look.
"Is that flu still playing up? I thought you'd beat it."
"I did, Jago." Another sigh. "It's just that... Oh, never mind."
They walked on in silence until they reached the ID office.
"Okay. I'm going in to fix those base passes. Give me..." He checked his watch. "... half an hour. No. Make it an hour. That should do. You never know there's a queue."
"Super. I'll meet you here, then. See you."
They separated.
Thirty-five minutes later, Tom stepped out of the dark, stuffy building and into the sunshine, squinting against the glare.
He checked for the time and found he still had some left to go and get some information on public transport. The ship was going to stay in Norfolk for some time and he had the intention of making good use of it by spending a day, or more, in Washington. He smiled as he looked forward to playing the tourist.
Tom took a deep breath and started walking.
He didn't get very far.
As he neared the corner of an alley, he stopped to check the time-table at a bus stop and, before he could react, hands had gripped him from behind and rudely pulled him back into the alley. This sudden assault caused him to stumble backwards.
"What the...Mmpff..."
Anything he might have wanted to say, was brutally cut off by a nasty kick in his abdomen which made him double up as his midriff contracted, expelling all air from his lungs.
Between the gasping and gagging, he tried to get a look at his assailants, but they never gave him a chance as they landed blow upon painful blow upon him. He struggled to stay on his feet. As long as he could do this, he stood a fighting chance to get out of the alley and into the open, public street. However, it was a losing battle. Any weak attempt on his part to stave off some of the punches proved fruitless. He couldn't think straight because of the incessant kicking. They made certain to cause him as much pain as possible in every part of his lithe body.
By now, he was curled up on his side, knees drawn up, arms crossed and protecting his head and chest. Suddenly, he saw his chance and he was able to give one vicious kick with his leg which had one thug distracted enough to miss another hit to his side. And then, it was over. Something solid connected with his head making it explode and the whole world receded into an empty blackness.
- -.-. -. . .
NCIS HQ, Washington DC
"Gas up the truck, McGee. We're goin' to Norfolk. Tony, Ziva – you both check out the victim at Bethesda."
Ziva and Tony, geared up in record time, hurried from behind their desks and followed Gibbs to the elevator.
Their youngest teammate...was still glued to his screen, his fingers leading a life of their own as they darted across his keyboard. He was totally oblivious to what happened beyond his own little world. To the others, when he was in that hyper absorbed state, it was freaky to behold.
Now, as they stood in 'Gibbs' office, his friends looked askance at Gibbs, waiting for his reaction. The team leader's eyes briefly crossed theirs as he emitted an aggravated sigh before raising his voice.
"McGEE! Today?"
Now that, agent McGee had heard. His reaction to this loud hail was instantaneous and amusing to watch. He looked up owlishly as if he only just awoke from a dream and his eyes opened wide at seeing the rest of his team waiting for him in the elevator car.
"Oh!"
Shamefaced, he scrambled to his feet, slung his back pack over his shoulder and jogged over to the others, bearing various looks from semi-bored, smirking to irritated, which made him blush even more than he was.
"Sorry..." he mumbled, as the doors closed.
*thwack*
On the ride down to the garage, Gibbs pushed a slip of paper into Tony's hand, holding the victim's name and other information.
Tony skimmed through the words on the document.
"What the...?" He exclaimed, looking up at Gibbs and then McGee, passing the paper to Ziva who'd been craning her neck to read for herself.
Gibbs grinned at both agent's flabbergasted faces. McGee, needless to say, had no clue, and, no surprise there either, his expression was one big question mark.
"There are more maids than Malkin, and more men than Michael." Gibbs deadpanned.
"Huh?" Tim frowned at the blank faces that met him.
"Never heard the expression, but its gist is clear." Tony mumbled.
"Gimmie that." McGee snagged the document hanging from Ziva's hand, but Gibbs intercepted him by grabbing his wrist and the paper just as the elevator doors opened.
"C'mon, Elf Lord. We got a crime scene to inspect and interviews to conduct."
He let go of Tim's hand and gave him a little push in the back, propelling the young agent towards the sedan. "You drive, Tim."
- -.-. -. . .
Bethesda Naval Hospital
Ziva and Tony entered the ER and, after having flicked their Id's and stated their business, they were led to a closed off cubicle where an impossibly young doctor was still occupied assessing his patient's condition.
As they drew nearer, their reactions were almost comical to behold as they abruptly stopped in their tracks.
Ziva's breath hitched and she blinked in surprise when her gaze fell on the motionless and bloody figure occupying the bed.
It had nothing to do with the bruising that covered most of the man's face and torso. His clothes had been taken off. These would be taken to NCIS for examination. Most of the blood had been cleared away and he had been attached to an IV line. His right wrist lay immobilized beside him.
Had they not left their co-worker with their boss less than an hour ago, or already learned the assault victim's name, they'd have sworn it was their friend lying so still and hurt in that bed.
Now, as they'd got over the worst of this shock, they observed the little details that reassured them this was a different man. For starters, his hair was a more flax color. He also sported a small scar just above his left eye-brow, whereas Tim had this long one on his right cheek.
It was slightly disconcerting to Tony and Ziva and they simply couldn't stop staring at the unconscious man.
A moan brought them out of their trances.
He was coming around, blinking his eyes which were disturbingly similar to their friend's.
The physician shone a light in the man's eyes, checking for a reaction of the pupils, meanwhile asking questions.
"Do you know where you are, sir?"
"...Hospital?"
"Good. What day are we?"
The man blinked a couple of times before replying.
"Eh... The 10th of July? Yes."
"Can you tell us your name, sir?"
"Tom. Tomas McGee." His speech was a little slurred.
"Hmm. What's your birthdate?"
"...15...November '78"
Tony and Ziva started at that statement. This could no longer be a coincidence. Something really hinky was going on, here. It was bad enough to see this English clone of Timothy McGee and not only in looks, but also in name. And now this stranger even shared the same birthday?
"No way, buddy," Tony broke in. "In a moment you're going to tell us you're born in Bethesda, too?"
The man squinted at the senior agent and when he replied, he sounded more than just a little baffled.
"How did you know that?"
"Jeez!" Tony exclaimed unbelievably. "This is some sick joke."
"Where do you live?" Ziva wanted to know.
"Uhm... No Man's Land."
Now Tony burst out laughing.
"You know, McGoo? That's hilarious! No man's land? Where did you get that from?"
The man frowned and was getting increasingly annoyed with the strange situation. He was hurting all over, he had a whopping headache, he'd been mugged, for the love of God! And now here was this...this...buffoon making fun of him? McGOO? Oh for crying out loud!
There was no way he was going to stay a second longer in this madhouse. So, with a painful grimace, he swung his lanky legs over the side of his bed - or at least, he tried to. The doctor, however, was quick to stall his movement and gently, yet firmly, pushed him back down and continued his examination.
The doctor palpated his abdomen. "Does this hurt?"
A moan was the man's only response.
"And here?" The doctor's fingers had moved to his chest.
Definitely a wince, this time. "Aw! Yes! Of course it does hurt!" He hissed.
The doctor, who'd been listening with amused interest to this odd conversation, removed the BP cuff and left the cubicle.
"How did you just call me?" Tomas McGee asked dangerously soft.
"What? Oh! McGooooo...mpfh..." Ziva's elbow in his side stopped any further embarrassing comments.
"It is...an inside joke... We have...a friend who shares the same family name as you. McGee." Ziva hastened to explain.
"Of course." Lt. Cdr. McGee muttered, closing his eyes. He was absolutely fagged and these...officers...weren't really helpful. He was not a little miffed by the way the male agent had treated him.
"Right." Tony started, feeling how he'd lost control. He had to take up the reins again. But, darn!, the man looked like Probie's spitting image! A deep breath and he was fully in command again.
"Can you remember what happened..." There was the slightest hesitation. "..., Sir?"
Lt. Cdr. McGee eyed him warily; even if one lid was so swollen he could barely see through it.
"Of course. I'm not an amnesiac."
Tony sighed resignedly.
"We merely want to establish which events lead up to the attack and in how far you remember the assault itself."
"Hmm..." McGee replied unenthusiastically. His eyes fell closed again.
"Let's start with the attack. Any idea who they were? Why you were attacked?"
McGee lifted his right arm to rest it over his eyes but winced at the painful contact and quickly lay it alongside again. He was taking quick, shallow breaths; an indication of the pain he was suffering.
"I...I don't know those men."
"How many?"
"Three...? Four? No... Three... I think... I don't know." He was fading, they noticed. His speech became more slurred and slow and they could see from the clammy and pale face that he was not feeling too good.
The doctor returned with a nurse.
"Lieutenant Commander McGee?"
His eyes opened, but only briefly.
"We'll take you for a CT scan to rule out anything more serious."
"How long? When c'n I go back to m' ship?" McGee was nearly out again. Another moan escaped from his lips.
"We'll keep you overnight, at least. For observation and some neuro checks."
The doctor's reply had been more to inform the agents of the patient's condition than for Lt. Cdr. McGee's own benefit who could no longer hear, anyway.
"At least?" Ziva asked.
The ER doctor watched the orderly wheel the bed out of the cubicle before regarding her calmly.
"Unless the scan will reveal other, internal injuries. Depending. In that case, his stay with us will be prolonged."
He wearily rubbed his brow before adding: "Besides, the chest pain may well be the result of some cracked or broken ribs. He'll be placed on the heart monitor, too."
Ziva and Tony followed the gurney as it was rolled inside the elevator and out of sight as the doors slid closed.
They went to the waiting room.